Memoirs of Hime
by eyeshadowlady
Summary: Manga spoilers. Takes place in Orihime's capture her thoughts on her friends and captor. Will she be saved, or will she be the true savior? Ulqy fans be warned. lol. T for language. A continuation from approximately Chapter 173. R&R please!
1. Chapter One: Through Gritted Teeth

**Disclaimer: Bleach owns. However, I do not own Bleach. In addition, I do not own any Bleach characters, Bleach songs, or even Bleach the cleaning product. Here is where the confusion lies. **

**Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite. Were it not for his existence, our lives might be slightly less pathetic (having some time freed up away from Bleach-obsession). He slaves over the series so that we have something to wank over.**

Brief Description: Inoue's account of her capture, her friends, and her captor. Memoirs of Hime. Not sure where it's going yet—I'll give a better description later.

Jealousy, depression, determination, and comic relief of Orihime. My apologies to any Ulquoirra fans. I do him great injustice in the eyes of Inoue, hahaha.

Chapter One:

Through Gritted Teeth

Alone. Surrounded by nothing but white walls and white faces; my only hope a small, unreachable window with black bars looking out to a gray abysmal sky. What looked like a moon that I wasn't used to; a moon which looked down on all the creatures roaming the barren earth. How can I feel secure in a world where nothing is familiar; a world with no color; a world in which the only light touching down on me felt as though every particle was devoted to exposing every atom, every twitch, every thought by which I was comprised.

Not that I wasn't used to spending my nights alone in the real world, but at least even when I was living by myself, Tatsuki-chan would keep me company from time to time, or I'd see people at school. I had freedom, which I often took for granted. Freedom to go where I pleased, freedom to see who I pleased, freedom to fight beside those whom I pleased to fight beside.

I miss the smell of fresh flowers in the springtime. I miss the smell of Kurosaki-kun, anytime. I miss chasing red dragonflies with Tatsuki-chan. I miss Asian flower printed skirts. I miss color. I miss food—real food, or what I think of as food anyway (mm, bread and honey sounds so good right now). I miss my brother, although he passed a few years back. I miss my friends and my school.

I miss Kurosaki-kun most of all.

I wonder if this is how Rukia felt.

Rukia… why do my thoughts always take me back to Kuchiki-san? Am I really that jealous? Maybe it's not even jealousy. Maybe it's just some sick coincidence that my life always plays out that way; that my footsteps will always retrace hers; that I will always come second, even in Kurosaki-kun's heart.

Kurosaki-kun… I yearn to call him Ichigo, as Kuchiki-san so comfortably does. It didn't take very long for her to achieve a first-name basis with him; so why is it so hard for me? Secretly (or sometimes, not-so-secretly) harboring my unrequited feelings for him for years, and it took Kuchiki-san's capture for Kurosaki-kun to even speak to me beyond the everyday, how-do-you-do's. And even after all this time fighting alongside him, I wonder if he's ever really looked at me without looking at the mirrored reflection of her in my eyes.

If I'd had half the confidence as Kuchiki-san, maybe things would be different between Kurosaki-kun and I. In truth, I've had several chances to essentially "twist fate" as Tatsuki-chan might say. I could have pulled some strings to arrange some "accidental alone time" with Ichigo. I could have just gradually built up the courage to call him by his first name. I could have whipped out a breast and made him turn to putty in my hands.

But that's just not how I am, or the way I always envisioned for things to progress. Maybe it's best for everybody that things just stay the way they are. I just don't see a happy ending for Kurosaki-kun, Kuchiki-san, or myself if one of us got our way. After all, it's not fair for Kurosaki-kun being so outnumbered and not even having a chance.

I almost scoff at the thought of Ichigo coming to save me. Captured by the hollow, kept alive merely for the entertainment of Aizen… does Ichigo have any idea what I've been through? But no—I cannot rely on him any longer. I cannot simply cling to the hope of Kurosaki-kun coming to my rescue once again. I must stand against the enemy myself. I _will_ defeat Aizen, wit h or without Kurosaki's help. Maybe if I prove that I am strong, maybe if I prove that I can save myself, maybe if I prove that I can win this war without Kurosaki, without Kuchiki, without Chad or Ishida or the captains; maybe then… maybe…

Maybe he'll look at me the way he looks at Kuchiki-san.

Maybe he'll rest his calloused hand on my shoulder and say, "Good job, Inoue."

Wouldn't it be so funny if he came to save me, and I instead saved him? Wouldn't we all just laugh ourselves silly? Wouldn't all of Soul Society drop their jaws and jiggle their bellies in one group guffaw? Imagines Captain Commander Yamamoto Genryuusai jiggling his jelly in a big red Santa Suit. "Once again, you saved the day, Orihime!"

I sense Ulquoirra coming. The wheels on the food cart are squealing with each nauseating step closer, and almost as soon as I sense the impending doom, Ulquoirra has arrived to bring "good tidings". I wonder which of my friends is dying this time… is it Chad? Ishida? Rukia?

Why would my friends put their lives at risk… for me? What did I ever do for them? I never truly fought alongside them. When Rukia's life was on the line, where was I? Sure I went to Soul Society, but if it wasn't for Kurosaki-kun… if it wasn't for Ichigo, she'd be dead. I'm so… useless.

I smirk a little to myself. Ulquoirra, you emo-looking mother-fucker. For some reason, I always imagine that after he makes his leave from my room, spouting insults and blah, blah, blah, all your friends are dead; he retreats to his palace, where he writes gothic poetry and draws pictures of decapitated babies and other reflections of his soul.

"Dear Diary,

Today Inoue bitchslapped me. Why does she have to be so cruel? It's not like I have personally killed all her friends yet, Diary. I am merely informing her. Don't kill the messenger, as they always say. Unless the messenger is Kurosaki Ichigo or that Sandal Hat bastard.

In other news… Diary, Noitora keeps making fun of me. I don't wear makeup! And he's so very suggestive in this Inoue business; disgusting. I hold no interest in wo—humans; aside from, of course, eating or generally eradicating their souls. I'm not some kind of pussy fiend; I'm an espada. I'm one of the elite. I don't spend my days chasing women, the least of all human ones. I chase blood and decay and power, etc., etc. And oh, of course Aizen-sama's wishes, as of course I do this all for him, and I certainly hope he's not reading this Diary, as the mere suggestion of anarchy would have me dismissed, though of course that's not what I'm suggesting.

Well, I'm off to go cut myself and write poems about it. I think I'll entitle the next one, "I bleed just so I can feel anything but hollow on the inside." Get it, 'cause I'm a Hollow.

Ulqy (that's what I secretly call myself when I'm lonely)"

"Woman! Quit spacing off. You _will_ eat this time. Don't make me shove it down your throat again." I snapped back to reality as I watched the food-wheeling hollow at Ulquoirra's side try to suppress giggles at the suggestion of shoving something down my throat. Fucking perv.

I did not apologize, but simply lowered my head and closed my eyes in retort, awaiting any kind of news—good or bad—that he might let slip. I bit my lower lip and tried to discourage my tummy from growling.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, surprised at how meek-sounding it came out.

Ulquoirra inched forward, his face uncomfortably close; so close I could feel his breath on my cheek and smell the rotting hole above his chest. "This is not a choice, woman. You are confused. Do not forget why you are here. You live for Aizen-sama only. Your every breath should be in thanks to him. He can eliminate you completely if he so chooses. You are not necessary to him; you are merely a tool that he can and will dispose of. Do not forget, woman. Now, eat."

I nodded, accepting my fate, though irate at his severe underestimation of my abilities. I WILL prevent your plans from unfolding, Aizen. I am not as weak as my body may seem to indicate.

"I'm sorry. I am grateful to Aizen-sama, and I will not forget that my life and my being belong to him." I find the words rolling off my tongue without one ounce of the sarcasm I so wished to add. I cannot flinch. I cannot talk back. I will not give them reason to doubt me.

Taking hold of whatever gelatinous substance that I could only speculate was the hollows' idea of "food", I timidly fought against my senses, specifically disregarding those of taste or smell, and swallowed the first chunk. Again wondering, surrounded by a void of white walls in a world where the only color was the evil combination surrounding the pupils of Ulquoirra's eyes, if this was the same kind of hell that Kuchiki-san had gone through.


	2. Chapter Two: Seeing in Color

**Disclaimer: Yes, unfortunately, I still do not own Bleach. Alas, I also did not take Ichigo's butthole virginity.**

Maybe I should have warned of slightly vulgar literature prior to this story? Lol.

Inoue and Rukia display their own heroic personas. Will Ichigo's butthole virginity be saved?

Chapter Two:

Seeing in Color

"Ohayo, Inoue!"

"Ohayo, Kuchiki-san!"

"Have you heard the news?" Rukia's intense gaze turned my attention from the juvenile scribbles on my desk top to meet her insanely large, horrified—but at the same time, excited—eyes.

"What is it, Kuchiki-san?" I asked, my voice firm but concerned. I had no way of predicting the terror that truly lied beneath her unusually calm demeanor.

"It's Ichigo." At the resonance of his name, my head perked up in severe curiosity.

"Kurosaki…kun?" My voice quivered a little in fear for his safety.

"He's been captured. By the hollow. He is presumed either near or extremely dead…" She paused before continuing, "…or deader." Kuchiki-san's grave manner of speaking made the horror of the situation just that more horrible.

"That can't be! How can you say something like that?! What proof do you have?!" I shrieked, outraged more at the situation than at Rukia herself.

Kuchiki-san only glared despondently at the scratches on her hands, investigating every unpainted nail with the same gloomy expression.

Without even meeting my gaze, she challenged my question with forced apathy. "All we know is that he left Soul Society and was expected back in the human world, but somewhere along the line… someone interfered."

My mind raced, searching for anything—anything that might give hope to Ichigo's condition. My eyes widened in shock as I noticed something I had given little thought to before, that might give faith to Kurosaki-kun being alive and well.

"Kuchiki-san, I know he's alive! This morning, I got a strange call from an unknown number on my cell phone. But when I picked up, I heard a familiar voice I can't seem to place say something along the lines of, 'Oh, sorry, wrong number. Do you by any chance know the whereabouts of Kurosaki Ichigo? I'm trying to capture him to bring him to Hueco Mundo, where Aizen-sama plans to keep him mostly alive but brainwashed, but… well, you know what? Never mind. I'll just check his reiatsu.' I'm not sure, but I think maybe the Hollow kidnapped him but kept him alive either to join their ranks or as their sex slave."

Secretly and selfishly, as well as for the sanctity of Kurosaki-kun's nether regions, I prayed it was the former.

Rukia's large, luminous eyes became even larger and more luminous as the reality of the situation sunk in. "Of course! Inoue, you know what we have to do right!"

Squishing my eyebrows together in a determined, scary imitation of Kurosaki-kun, I nodded. In a deep, concentrated voice, I deduced the only possibility of saving Ichigo. "I will go to Hueco Mundo and save him myself." That said, I unsheathed my really kick-ass-looking zanpakutou, which, in bankai form, combined the formation of a flower and a red dragonfly.

Looking up into the sky, I cursed those who stole my Kurosaki-kun and his butthole virginity, and, setting out on my tiresome journey, I—

"Take that! Hee-yaw! And that! No, not there Tatsuki-chan, I'm not read…y…" I was awakened from my embarrassing display of a misplaced fantasy to the eyes and interest of Ulquoirra.

As a member of the espada ordered to oversee my stay at Hueco Mundo, Ulquoirra was required to check in on me several times through the day—making sure that I ate, making sure that I slept, and overall, making sure I stayed alive and in moderate condition. My health was to be a top priority to Hueco Mundo for as long as I remained an object of interest to Aizen-sama. Even so, it seemed as though Ulquoirra's visits were becoming more frequent and gradually extended as the days passed. His eyes bore into me like a scientist's to a lab rat—studying me, collecting data for his own personal research. As Aizen-sama's loyal dog, part of Ulquoirra's duty was to observe my behavior and oversee my stay. However, the extent to which Ulquoirra studied me seemed more out of his own curiosity than that of Aizen-sama.

"You're very curious," he remarked, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

I turned my head to the barred window, trying to hide my embarrassment and turning my attention back to reality, which often proved little comfort. I often agonized over my friends, pondering their whereabouts, their safety, and just how much they'd improved before venturing to Hueco Mundo. I reassured myself that they were still alive despite Ulquoirra's cold, manner-of-fact way of assuring me that they were not. I reassured myself that, instead of saving me, Kurosaki-kun would run to Kuchiki-san's side and somehow prevent her from completely surrendering to death's embrace.

I can save myself. Even if I am killed here, knowing that Kuchiki-san and my friends are safe, that Ichigo will be happy, is the only justification I need to feel secure in departing from this plane of existence. Even if I am beaten beyond recognition, I will maintain composure. I will not cry. I will not scream. I will not surrender.

Sensing my apprehension, Ulquoirra motioned toward me. "Do not fret. I didn't kill him," Ulquoirra started. "Ichigo, that is."

I raised my eyes to meet his, now looming just overhead as I sunk into a grayish-green couch—more of a decoration than a luxury. I said nothing, and I showed no signs of gratitude for allowing me this much information. Hoping, more than anything, that he would reveal more.

"It was no favor to you. Had he made his way to your room and not turned to save the other girl—" he continued, smirking a little in giving this fact, "—his fate would have been sealed. I chose to let him live. He proved himself to be no threat to Hueco Mundo, nor to Aizen-sama's wishes."

Ichigo was alive. He was alive and in search of Rukia. This information, meant to discourage me from hope of rescue, provided me much more comfort than he'd have imagined. The fact that Ichigo may have essentially "chosen" Rukia's life over my own was irrelevant. Petty love quarrels have no meaning in my life as it is now. What benefit comes of me living, anyway? My extended life only means extended life spans for the espada; which means more destruction, more massacre, more horrendous deaths for my friends, Soul Society, and the human world.

"Anyway," Ulquoirra muttered, surveying the room for the first time. "It seems you were busy during my departure. But somehow, you kept yourself in decent condition." He lifted my chin as he said this, inspecting the scars and bruising that remained from a confrontation prior to his arrival. "Clean this mess up," he trailed, turning to leave the room. As he reached for the door he met my gaze. "When I return, I expect this blood to be gone. I'll send for supplies."

With that, my captor was gone, completely oblivious to the truth of what I'd been subjected to. In a way, Ulquoirra was my protector. Heartless and cruel, yet still determined to see to my safety. Would he have saved me from the female arrancar, had he acknowledged their presence? I was certain this was so. Aizen had ordered him to keep me alive.

With two fingers, I wiped a bit of the blood from my cheek. The blood still looked as red as it ever did; a color I was not accustomed to seeing in this dreary existence. The blood was still somewhat fresh; a reminder that I was still human, and still very much alive. I brought my fingers to my mouth, excavating every drop of blood from the surface. My blood tasted just as it always had. My flesh had not completely surrendered to the hollow.


End file.
